


In which Sansa does not go quietly into that good night

by sarahcakes613



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence - The Battle of the Blackwater, Gen, Sansa knows things okay, Sassy Sansa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-24 15:50:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6158698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahcakes613/pseuds/sarahcakes613
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa goes with Sandor the night of the Blackwater. He's not impressed with her lack of outdoors skills. She's not impressed with his attitude.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In which Sansa does not go quietly into that good night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vanillacoconuts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanillacoconuts/gifts).



> Written after Lucy said she wanted to see Sansa sass back a little bit.

She felt like they’d been riding forever. The sun had risen up and sunk again and still they rode.

When they finally stopped, Sansa didn’t wait for Sandor to lift her down, but slid down from Stranger and immediately collapsed against the nearest tree. She’d found it difficult to sleep on the moving horse, and she was sure that given the chance, she would now sleep for days.

Sandor moved around her, hacking at branches with his sword and tossing them into a pile in front of her. Sansa watched, curling up with her cloak wrapped tightly around her. “Get a fire going.” Sandor rasped, gesturing at the branches. She stared blankly at him. “I don’t know how.” She mumbled.

“Buggering hells, of course you don’t, I forgot. Highborns like you always just walk into a room and find the fire already there. Bloody useless.” He jeered.

Sansa chewed on the inside of her cheek in an effort to stay quiet. He’d been very brave, taking her away in the chaos of the battle, and she didn’t want to be rude to him in return. Still, it wasn’t her fault that she didn’t know how to build a fire. She could do other things. She didn’t see any visible rips in his cloak, but perhaps she could look more carefully after a night’s sleep, and show him how skilled she was with a needle and thread.

Fire finally crackling, Sandor pulled a half-plucked partridge out of one of Stranger’s saddlebags, and thrust it at Sansa. “I don’t suppose you know how to cook, either?” He mocked, shaking the partridge. She drooped her head down in response.

“Seven hells girl, do they teach you nobles nothing of how to live?” Sandor growled. Sansa flushed with frustration. It’s not like Gage and her had been bosom companions, he was more liable to chase her and Jeyne out of the kitchen than invite them to crowd in close and see what he was doing.

Eventually, the bird eaten and fire tamped, Sandor threw his cloak to Sansa, telling her to use it as a bedroll, and her own as a blanket. She lay there quietly for some time, before softly asking, “will it always be like this?”

She could hear him shift next to her, and she sensed rather than saw his answering sneer. “Aye, Little Bird, it will. Did you imagine we’d be in inns every night, having hot baths and fresh fish? Perhaps lemoncakes with every meal? Stupid bird, we’re fugitives now. You’re not a highborn anymore, and best remember that.”

She’d tried to excuse away his mocking, but calling her stupid was the final insult, and she kicked off her cloak and stomped over to him, hands on her hips. He looked up at her standing over him, one eye cocked open with curiosity.

“STOP IT. Stop mocking me. I’m not stupid. I can write my letters in two languages, and identify a house banner from 30 yards. I know the names of every King and Queen of Westeros, and the Kings of Winter too, and I can sew a perfect whipstitch! Maybe I can’t build a fire or cook a bird, but I. AM. NOT. STUPID.” Sansa fell suddenly silent, chest heaving with exertion.

Sandor had both eyes open now, and was leaning up on his elbows, staring up at Sansa with an expression akin to admiration. “Well bugger me backwards, the Little Bird has claws!” He roared with laughter. “Alright, Little Bird, alright. If ever I need to know the names of some dead kings, I’ll be sure to ask you. In the meantime, get some sleep. In the morning, I’ll show you how to cook oats over an open fire.”

Sansa crept back to her cloak bed, feeling oddly triumphant. She hated oats, but that could be a battle for another day.


End file.
